Final Words
by lillypilly11
Summary: Five times Nikola Tesla thought he was dying, and one time he really was.
1. Life's a Bitch and Then You Don't Die

A/N: Five times Nikola Tesla thought he was dying, and one time he really was. Six loosely connected ficlets concerning Nikola's mortality, set mostly between Sleepers and Awakening, with one sojourn to the nineteenth century.

Part 1 is an episode addition for Sleepers.

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><p><strong>Final Words<strong>

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_1. Life's a Bitch and Then You Don't Die (If Only)_

He was stretched along the sofa, feet propped on the arm, his head on Helen's lap, which she was tolerating with such good grace it almost made him suspicious. Only almost, because there were several distracting factors at play - namely, the wine, his mortality, and the fact that when he turned his head just a little his cheek met the bare skin of Helen's thigh just above her knee.

Had her skirt been that short when he walked in? How depressing that he hadn't noticed.

And how many wonderful, enjoyable things were going to pass him by, never to be reclaimed because he simply didn't have enough time to do so? There wasn't time - a human life span wasn't nearly long enough to accomplish and experience everything he wanted to.

"I mean, I know that whole 'life is a terminal disease' bit is a cliché, but really," he said, gesturing widely with his wine glass.

"It is a cliché," Helen agreed, managing to follow his thought even if he had only started speaking in the middle of it. "You're better than that, Nikola."

"You're not the one dying a slow, boring death here. When you are, I'll do you the courtesy of allowing you to be as clichéd as you like." He prodded her shoulder with his glass for emphasis and she stole it from his grasp. He tilted his head back and frowned up at her, but she was only refilling it and returned it to him shortly.

It was an awkward position for drinking without spilling, but he managed. Motivation did wonders for one's coordination. Even if he was drunk for the first time in over a century.

"I mean, really. Thirty, forty years perhaps? That's a holiday. A weekend."

He had plans to make, visions to realise, genius to release upon a grateful world, and somewhere in there he meant to make Helen realise she loved him back. His schedule was full; there was no time for ageing gracefully, or at all.

"A long weekend, at least," Helen murmured in a tone that meant she thought he was being melodramatic.

It was a good thing she and the contents of her wine cellar were so distracting, or he might have been hurt by that.

"The zipper on your skirt," he announced, "Is made of metal."

There was a pause. "You haven't the fine motor control yet."

"I'll take that bet."

"Do, and you'll be wearing that wine, not drinking it. Such a shame that would be."

"You know, the least you could do is offer me pity sex."

"You think that's the least I could do? I could do a lot less than that, I'm sure."

"But pity sex would be, you know, sex. I'd enjoy it."

"No."

"I think I would."

"No."

He sipped from his glass, smiling, and sighed. "I like our talks. I'll miss them when I'm old and senile and have no idea who you are."

Helen matched his sigh with a quiet one of her own. "Oh, Nikola."

"You'll probably put me in a nursing home."

"Yes, that's precisely what I intend to do."

"Just make it a nice one. With hot young nurses. Mm, sponge baths."

"You'll be too senile to enjoy them." Her tone was slightly clipped, he noted.

"Don't get jealous, you were the one who put me there, remember?"

She laughed and he felt it right through the back of his head. He closed his eyes, smiling. He was either very drunk, or very tired, or both. He lifted his hand over his head, wordlessly waiting until she took the hint and removed the glass from his hand and set it aside. He folded his hands on his chest.

"You laugh at my pain," he said. "I think the least you could do is feel sorry for me. Don't worry, I'm only dying."

He felt her hand on his hair, very light, and rather tender.

"Grant my final request?" he said.

"What, already?"

He turned his face into her warm thigh, drunk and tired and seeking comfort. When her voice came next she seemed to be speaking from some distance. "What is it?"

"This," he replied, "Just this."


	2. The Hangover

A/N: Here's part two, which follows on directly from part one, although it stands alone, too. Enjoy!

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><p><strong>Final Words<strong>

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_2. The Hangover_

He was prodded awake to find himself still on the sofa, his head now resting on a throw pillow, and the original walking carpet himself looming over him.

"You have to come to breakfast."

"Says who?" Nikola groaned, batting away a persistent hand threatening to dislodge him from his makeshift bed.

There was a grunt. "Who do you think?"

The Sasquatch left. Nikola levered himself upright and immediately wished he hadn't, groaning as he clutched his head.

It was a miracle he even made it to his feet, let alone the breakfast table.

He groaned as he tossed aside the blanket with which someone - Helen, because who else - had thoughtfully covered him at some point in the night. He kept groaning as he made his way out into the hall and found the nearest bathroom. And he was still giving voice to his extreme discomfort as he eventually dragged himself into the kitchen.

"I'm dying," he announced as he staggered over to the table. "I'm dying. Oh what is this fresh hell?"

"It's called breakfast," Helen said from her place at the head of the table.

"It's called a hangover," corrected Kate, eyeing him with amusement.

He lowered himself gingerly into a chair and cradled his head on his arms. Every movement was agony. Every word from their unfriendly mouths like being beaten over the head anew with the baseball bat of cold hard reality.

"Oh right," Henry, sitting to his right, said. "'Cause you didn't used to get drunk, so no hangovers either."

"My only comfort turned against me," he whimpered.

"Here." A hairy arm appeared in his line of vision and a plate was set next to his head.

He didn't need to look at it - the smell was enough. That couldn't seriously be kippers, could it? No, it was, kippers and fried eggs. It was an affront to him on every level, as a man of discerning taste, and especially as a man with a serious hangover.

"Oh man, he's gonna hurl," Kate said, reaching over to snatch the plate away.

He pressed a hand to his lurching stomach and made a truly valiant effort not to do anything of the sort.

"You know what you need?" Henry said. "A fried bacon and egg sandwich. Great for hangovers, works every time. What? It's the grease, it soaks up the, you know."

"No way, hair of the dog all the way," Kate countered, gesturing with her fork across the table. "Try a bloody Mary, extra bloody. Or if you can't swing it, nothing beats a cold one."

"I just stick to leftover pizza," said Will with a shrug. "It's the only thing I can stand when I'm hungover."

"He needs protein," the Big Guy said, coming to stand over Nikola's shoulder and threatening him again with that abomination he was trying to pass off as breakfast food. "And not to drink so much in the first place."

"Actually, what he needs is to replenish his fluids and electrolytes," Helen said. "Most symptoms of a hangover are due to dehydration, which prevents the system from processing toxins."

Nikola exploded. "What he needs is for everyone to shut up!"

There was a brief, blessed lack of talking. Which lasted approximately five seconds.

"Yeah, I get cranky too when I'm hungover," said Henry.

Nikola dropped his head in his hands again. Death would actually be welcome right now - at least it would be quiet.

"Here," Helen said, reaching over with the teapot. "Start with a cup of tea. I'm sure you'll feel better in no time."

"You know Helen, tea doesn't solve everything," he snapped, annoyed at the empty gesture, her patronising tone. He added for good measure, "You thin-lipped British fish wife."

There was a notable silence around him as everyone waited, wide-eyed, to see what Helen's response to that would be.

"Neither does drinking yourself stupid and then whining your head off about a little headache, you intolerable little manchild. Drink your tea and be quiet."

He glowered into his teacup. "Harpy," he muttered.

"Human," she returned.

Well that stung. She'd been so much nicer to him last night. He couldn't think what had changed.

"I know some perfectly nice Harpies," the Big Guy rumbled, in between bites of his breakfast, "They get a bad rap."

"Tell it, brother," Kate said, and leaned past Will to fist-bump the Big Guy.

"Yeah, it's just common prejudice, is what it is," Henry said.

Nikola very calmly and rationally decided he could no longer be present for such inane drivel under the guise of this smothering veneer of domesticity. Setting his cup down, he lifted his hands. "On second thought, I think hair of the dog is the way to go." He pushed his chair back from the table. "Anyone needs me, I'll be in the wine cellar."

"Nikola."

"Don't scold, Helen. I'm human, I have a hangover. But hey, at least I'm human, which means I can get drunk all over again if I want, which is just as well, as there's no way I'm handling any of this sober."

"You're simply going to become a drunk, that's your plan?"

"No, perhaps you're right, it's too early for libations. You, new girl," he turned to point at Kate across the table. "You look like you've got a host of seedy back-alley connections on speed dial."

"Hey!" Kate said indignantly. Then she shrugged. "I mean I do, yeah, but still. Hey."

"Whatever. You think you could score me some weed?"

"Oh really," Helen said, returning her teacup firmly to its saucer, apparently gearing up for a lecture in earnest.

He waved a hand. "Relax, I'm kidding. And like you can talk? All those so called 'experiments' with LSD in the sixties?"

She blinked, shifted uncomfortably in her chair, and came back with, "Those were legitimate areas of study, we learned a lot about the brain and its capacity for... Wait. You and I had no contact with each other in the sixties, how did you know-?"

"A safe bet. Or should I say, a groovy one." He grinned.

The others at the table hid their amusement with varying degrees of success as Helen huffed, irritated.

"Oh, go and drink yourself into a coma, will you? You'd be far less tiresome that way."

He nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

"Just don't come crying to me when your liver fails," she added.

He stood up, blithely ignoring her. Such unsubtle scare tactics wouldn't work on him.

"You'd think a genius like him would be at least a little worried about all those dying brain cells," Will commented as Nikola left the table.

"Or the impotence," the Big Guy added gruffly.

"Big drinker equals big ol' case of the droopies," Kate agreed.

Henry shook his head. "He'll probably gain a bunch of weight, too. Man, Nikola Tesla with a beer gut, that's just sad."

He knew exactly what all of them were doing. It was transparent to an insulting degree.

That didn't mean it wasn't working.

Nikola turned around and sat back down. "What was that about my brain cells?"

"Brain impairment linked with long-term heavy drinking is well documented," Helen said, with a hint of a smile he chose to ignore.

He thought about it a moment. "Is there so much as a single way being human doesn't suck?"

"Uh, well, you learn to appreciate the fleeting nature of existence," Will offered.

"There are almost seven billion of us, not like when you were the only vampire around." Kate shrugged. "Might be less lonely?"

"I'm not human, so, I got nothing," Henry said.

"Me either," said the Big Guy, and shoved breakfast in front of Nikola yet again. He gestured to the steaming pile of hell on a plate. "Brain food. You need it." He punctuated the advice with a smack across the back of the former-vampire's head.

Everyone snickered.

Everyone except the former-vampire in question, whose head was exploding all over again.

Nikola's only consolation was that, when the stench of smoked fish wafting up from his plate finally proved too much for him, and he threw himself away from the table and found the kitchen trash can just in time to empty his stomach into it - to the disgusted protests of his unsympathetic companions - well, at least their breakfast was thoroughly ruined, too.


	3. Sanguine Vampiris

A/N: Setting is the Five at Oxford for this one. First go writing the five - I rather enjoyed it. Hope you do to!

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><p><strong>Final Words<strong>

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_3. Sanguine Vampiris (Or, The First Time's the Hardest)_

It occurred to him at some point during that endless night that he was probably dying. It would not have been fitting to complain of it - despite the temptation to do so, if only to provoke some sympathetic reaction from Helen - but the thought was there all the same.

The experiment had been a risk. They had all known this from the start.

For the first few hours after the source blood entered his vein, he knew nothing but pain. Helen and Nigel, who had preceded him in the experiment, had both displayed some reaction. But where theirs seemed to pass in but a few minutes, his own stretched from minutes to hours of agony that wracked through his body, as if some hellish force had seized hold of him.

He was changed; he could feel it in his bones. He barely felt human after a time, so deeply the transformation penetrated his being it seemed impossible that he could survive it.

He passed in and out of consciousness, dozing fitfully through the night, feverish and restless, finally coming fully awake at some early hour to the sound of Helen and James speaking in hushed tones. They were across the room, Druitt and Griffin with them, and it occurred to him that he could hear them quite well despite the distance and their obvious efforts to remain unheard.

"I thought of a transfusion," Helen was saying.

James nodded. "Mm, as did I, but can we take such a risk?"

"He may already be past the point where the chance of his condition continuing any longer is the greater risk." As she spoke, Helen's gaze was drawn to the couch where he lay.

Even through half-lidded eyes he could read the deep concern on her face. It did not much improve his confidence in his chances.

"We've not got much choice then, do we?" Nigel said.

"Griffin, you cannot donate, your blood is altered."

"No, nor can I," Helen said. James blinked as if he hadn't even considered she might be a potential donor. "It must be you or John," she concluded.

"Draw lots?" Druitt suggested, with his typical arch humour.

"Oh I'll volunteer," James said. "Just this once."

"I'll fetch the apparatus," Nigel offered. "Hoping I won't have to go too far at this hour. Helen?"

"Yes of course, downstairs in my father's laboratory."

"I know where to look," James said, and he and Nigel left the room.

"A good thing your father is travelling," John said to Helen. "You've not yet told him of our experiment, have you? This would not be the way to introduce the idea."

Nikola had had the same thought when Helen insisted he be brought to her home from their laboratory upon realising his condition was growing more serious by the hour.

"I wish my father were here," Helen countered. "No matter what he might say. He might have some insight - he is a better doctor than any of us."

"But a worse scientist," Nikola spoke up suddenly, alerting them to his lucid state. "And not the most gracious of hosts - I doubt the master of the house would like to encounter an expiring foreigner on his fine upholstery."

Helen came to his side at once, kneeling by the couch and clasping his hand in hers. And even though it was an excuse to wrap her fingers around his wrist and take his pulse, he appreciated the gesture all the same.

"Still very fast," she murmured. "How do you feel?"

"Magnificent, why, do I not look it?"

There was a rude snort from behind her, from Druitt, but Helen smiled. "Quite as magnificent as ever."

"And if we were to give a serious answer, as opposed to flirting with Helen?" Druitt prompted dryly.

Nikola drew in a laboured breath. "I assure you, my dear John, I've always taken flirting with Helen very seriously."

"Behave, gentlemen," Helen chided absently, removing her hand from his grasp to press it to his forehead and cheeks instead, gauging his temperature. "Now, did you hear?"

"Transfusion? We are embarking on all manner of adventure today."

"You seem better," Helen said, regarding him with a critical eye. "Perhaps we should delay the procedure."

He looked past her, to catch Druitt's eye. "She seems to have lost her nerve."

"Surely not," the other man said mockingly.

"Perhaps the treatment changed her after all."

"A cautious Miss Magnus, whatever will become of us?"

For a moment, Helen looked quite irritated rather than worried and fearful, and Nikola considered it a victory. But whatever sharp words she had for them were silenced as Nigel and James hurried back into the room.

"Here," Nigel said, "Let's get set up."

Nikola waved a limp hand. "No hurry, my friend, Helen is entertaining me with delightful expressions of grief at my condition."

"He seems better," James said, almost accusingly, coming to stare down at him.

"Not getting out of it that easy," Nigel said, bringing over a chair to place near Nikola's head, and took James' arm to guide him to sit.

As they arranged the tubing and pump, Nikola began to suspect that they were perhaps right - he did feel somewhat improved. His mind was clearer, and he felt none of the pain of before. He was not comfortable, however. His body felt peculiar and there was a pang in his stomach like a hunger but more intense. More like a deep craving.

His fingertips itched.

Activity proceeded around him as his attention was drawn inward, musing on the new specifics of his condition only he was privy to. Soon, though, Helen was pushing up his shirt sleeve, and the large hollow needle pierced his skin. He hissed, making Helen look up quickly with a reassuring word on her lovely lips; but it was not the pain, it was the blood that spilled into the tube that was the cause. The sight of it called up some strong reaction within him, unlike anything he had experienced before.

His focus narrowed, turning suddenly to the other exposed limb very close at hand. Helen turned too, introducing the second needle to James' arm.

And very quickly it became clear, the mistake they had made in attempting to perform a procedure that involved the use of blood.

Nikola lunged from the couch and knocked James clear across the rug with the force of his strike.

The uproar was complete; James cried out, Helen fell back, Nigel swore, John wavered between going to Helen's aide or James'. Nikola, for his part, hesitated not a second before attempting to sink very sharp, efficient teeth into James' arm.

But John acted then, grabbing Nikola and hauling him backwards - only to have him tear free in an instant, staggering a few feet away. All four gasped as they saw him changed for the first time - saw his black eyes and razor teeth.

"My god," Helen said, pushing herself up from where she'd fallen beside the couch. This drew his attention, and when he took a step in her direction, everyone acted at once.

"Hold him!" James cried, surging up from the floor, and the three men bore him quickly down - one at each flailing arm and James at his head, forearm across his throat, attempting to pin him to the floor.

He raged. His strength was beyond measure, certainly beyond the frantic bodies desperately trying to hold him down, and he might have broken free in the next moment. But then there was Helen, her knee digging sharply into his abdomen, her hands, small and soft and so very capable, pressing firmly on his chest.

"Nikola! Nikola!" she cried, staring down into his face as she called to him.

And it was Nikola who responded; a newly born Nikola, different yes, better almost certainly, but also the same.

He thought there would never be a time in his life when he wouldn't come at her call.

"Well," he said, working his jaw as it returned to its natural, human state, "Perhaps I'm not dying after all."

They didn't let him up for a good ten minutes longer after he had stopped struggling. However, they did not grow bored in the meantime. The five of them, sprawled there on the floor together, began a rather long conversation concerning vampires.


	4. Sticks and Stones

A/N: This is set sometime just before the Kali episodes, so near the end of season two. Nikola is still human, still not happy about it, and having a little trouble adjusting.

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><p><strong>Final Words<strong>

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_4. Sticks and Stones_

Showing up on the Sanctuary doorstep like this, unannounced, uninvited, in need of help, was nothing short of humiliating.

And yet, sadly necessary.

Nikola propped himself there in the large, ornate archway, and determinedly thumped away with the heavy brass knocker until, after an age, the door opened.

"Whoa," Henry said, looking surprised to find such a visitor on the other side of the door. "Uh, so you're... here. Does the boss know you're here? I'm just gonna - hey, are you okay? You look kinda..." He grimaced.

Nikola felt his tenuous grasp on both the door-frame and consciousness fading with every moment. "Okay," he croaked, "I know I've been dwelling on this point a lot of late, but I may be, I don't know, dying?"

There was a dim sensation then, like falling, though he didn't recall hitting the floor.

The next few minutes were a hazy blur of urgent voices and hands touching him and walls rushing by. The last thing he saw before unconsciousness claimed him was Helen, her sweet, concerned face hovering over his, her lips moving as she said his name.

.

.

He woke in familiar surroundings, reclining in an infirmary bed between clean sheets. He felt weak, his head aching and his eyes sore as he blinked in the light, but on the whole he was rather more comfortable than he had been in days, perhaps weeks. He shifted and there was a slight twinge in his hand - he looked to find an IV stand beside the bed, needle taped to the back of his hand. No doubt the source of the comfort, he decided. Helen had fixed him up with the good drugs; that was nice of her.

Speaking of the woman herself, she entered his field of vision just then. "You're awake," she said.

"For now," he rasped out. "At any rate, ready for the prognosis. Come on, give to me straight, don't feel you have to hold your punches. I can take it."

Helen gave him an odd look. "You have a cold."

He blinked up at her from his deathbed. "What?"

"A cold."

"Are you sure you're a real doctor? Whatever I have, it's much worse than a little cold. Why do you have me on an IV drip if it's a cold? Are you - are you lying to me to ease my passage? Have a little respect, will you?"

"The IV is fluids and nutrients - you arrived here with low blood sugar, slight dehydration, and showing signs of exhaustion. That would be why you passed out on my doorstep. You haven't been taking care of yourself, have you? No wonder you caught a cold - you need to eat several times a day, drink some water every now and then, and sleep occasionally. Or your immune response will be compromised."

"You realise you might as well be speaking Martian, don't you? I'm a vampire. My immune response is _being__ a__ damn __vampire_."

"Not any more." Her tone was not as cruel as it might have been, but the truth hurt nonetheless. She smiled. "But it's not too dire, you simply need to go to bed with some soup and hot tea, and you'll feel better in a day or two."

He picked listlessly at the starchy white sheet. "How nice if that were true."

He heard Helen's soft sigh. "Get some rest. I'll have someone bring you something to eat in a little while, and the drip can come out."

He raised his eyes to the ceiling, feeling pathetic and miserable and hating it as he listened to her departing footsteps.

He coughed weakly. Then he coughed again.

"It could be pneumonia," he muttered. The idea made him feel a bit better, and he brightened momentarily.

"It is not pneumonia!" Helen called back, already out of the room, leaving him all the more depressed than before.

.

.

She reappeared a few hours later. "Feeling better?" she said as she came to stand by the bed.

He did feel better. He was of course not going to tell her that.

But yes, he'd had soup, and tea, and had his pillows plumped and the IV removed by one of the more gruff and hairy nurses he'd ever known, and then been left thankfully in peace for a time, and physically at least, he was better.

"You know what the worst part is?" he said.

She didn't ask, merely raised an eyebrow.

"You're being _nice_ to me."

"I... could throw you out on the street if you like." She moved closer, propping a hip on the edge of the bed. "It's not pity, if that's what's bothering you."

"No," he agreed, "It's not pity - let it never be said you aren't a true friend, Helen, not even an ounce of sympathy for me in my time of crisis." Her mouth dropped open but he waved off her oncoming protest. "I'm no threat. I'm harmless. A de-clawed cat suddenly allowed on the furniture."

"Oh dear. Should I send for Will? He's the therapist, I'm sure he'd be happy to talk to you."

"You wouldn't dare. If you set that little walking Freudian nightmare on me, I will never forgive you."

She smirked and admitted, "I'm here with more practical concerns, anyway. Roll up your sleeve."

Suddenly she produced a syringe along with a sealed alcohol swipe from her pocket and gestured at his arm.

He eyed it suspiciously. "What is that?"

"Has it occurred to you that you're a walking magnet, one who hasn't been human since before the majority of vaccines were invented? If you're going to have metal objects flying towards you at random, I thought perhaps a tetanus shot mightn't be a bad idea." She shrugged. "The talk of immune systems earlier made me think of it."

"I haven't been vaccinated for _anything_." Alarmed, he hastily undid his cuff and shoved his sleeve up. When she leaned over to give him the shot he shied away. "Shouldn't you be wearing a mask?"

"I'm not contagious!"

"So you say. You know, now I think of it, I was given the smallpox vaccination, of course, as a child. How are we doing with smallpox?"

"Effectively eradicated a number of years ago."

"Great, so the one thing I can't catch anyway. Well what are you waiting for?" He pushed his arm at her again. "I nicked myself shaving the other day, I could have tetanus already, no thanks to you."

"Well, you're still talking... That's a good sign. I suppose," she murmured, as she swabbed his arm and jabbed him - none too gently. Then she produced another syringe and held it up while he was still rubbing at the rather tender injection site. "Flu shot," she explained. "This is about all we keep on hand as far as your standard vaccines go, but you might want to catch up on a few others. Especially if you're travelling."

He rolled up his other sleeve and held out his arm. "Hit me."

She leaned across him to reach his other arm. "For a man who showed up today apparently unwilling to feed himself, your sudden interest in your health is encouraging."

"Germs are almost as terrifying as the prospect of old age. Do we have a vaccine for that yet?"

"I think it's called dying young. Which, if you're not careful -"

He waved a hand. "Yes, yes, an apple a day, etcetera. Well if there's one thing we know I excel at, it's being careful."

She smiled and sat back, setting aside the empty syringes and used wipes. "I'm glad you've not given up entirely."

"Your excellent standard of care notwithstanding, I could be around for a few years yet. If you're lucky."

"If I'm lucky?" She snorted. "If I'm lucky, whatever schemes you come up with to 're-vamp' yourself won't end up causing me or my Sanctuary any trouble."

"Scheming? Me?"

"Whatever it was you were so focused on you didn't eat, drink or sleep for days."

"Nothing for you to worry your charming head about."

"Hmm. Difficult not to when you choose my doorstep to pass out on. Not that I'm... not glad you did. I suppose. Goodness knows you can't take care of yourself, apparently."

"There you go, Helen, being nice again. It's nothing short of insulting."

"If it makes you feel any better, I plan on throwing you out on the street in the morning."

"See? That's all I ask."

She laughed a little, and patted his arm. "Try to get some rest." She stood to go, but then paused, as if wavering on saying something more.

"What is it?" he asked.

She looked thoughtful a moment. "You'll no doubt take this the wrong way -"

"I like where this is going already."

"I just wanted you to know... Even as a mere human, Nikola, well I wouldn't bet against you. Unless you were up against me, of course."

Whatever clever remark he may have come up with vanished in the face of her sudden sincerity. "I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"So sorry," she tossed over her shoulder along with an impertinent grin as she departed, "It won't happen again."

.

.

He didn't wait to be escorted off the premises at dawn - yes, Helen had most likely been joking about that, although he wouldn't put it past her - the thing was, he'd got what he came for. And besides, he didn't like to say goodbye. So he left during the night, with every intention that the next time he saw her, he would have proved her right - he was not to be wagered against; he was not to be counted out.

Oh, Helen knew him too well. Of _course_ he had a plan. A good one, as if he was capable of anything else. And he would get right on it, just as soon as he found a proper human medical clinic stocked with proper human medicines, and got himself inoculated for everything under the sun. And possibly ate some spinach or tofu or something.

He only had to live long enough to find the remaining source blood the Cabal had stolen - until then, he supposed the goal was to, well, live. A genius like him should be just about able to manage. And if not, well he could always drop by Nurse Helen's again - maybe next time he could convince her to give him a sponge bath.


	5. Gone in 60 Seconds

A/N: Okay, this one's an episode addition for 'Trail of Blood' - basically what happens after they find their way out of the caves.

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><p><strong>Final Words<strong>

...

_5. __Gone __in__ 60 __Seconds_

They made it up and out of the cave system without further incidence. What was a little explosion, extinction of a murderous mutant species, and near-death experience amongst friends?

All things considered, it could have gone a lot worse.

Taking in the fresh air and sunlight above ground for the first time in over nine days, Nikola smiled to himself as he made to follow Helen and the others as they started down a narrow track to the north.

He took about three steps, then stopped. "No," he declared, "I can't. We're going the wrong way."

The group paused, and turned back. "What's the matter? This is the way we came in," Helen said.

"Yes, but I set up camp over that way, and at the very least, I need a change of clothes. I'm still covered in what I will generously describe as multipede webs."

Helen exchanged a look with her two boys. "Why don't you two rest here for a minute. Won't be long."

"Coming with me? I'm not sure I need help undressing - but if you're offering..."

"You're weak, and injured. Let's just hurry along, the sooner we can get back to civilisation, the better, don't you think?"

What he thought was that he wanted privacy to safely store the multipede larva for the trip back to said civilisation. Who cared about a few bruises, near starvation, and a persistent ringing in his ears, when there was the reclaiming of his heritage at stake? But Helen was looking at him expectantly and he shrugged and led the way as if he didn't care.

It wasn't much of a campsite - mostly just where he'd left a few tools, equipment, and some supplies he hadn't intended on lugging down into the cave if he didn't need them. He hadn't been sure what he would encounter, or if he would even be able to locate the abandoned Cabal facility - and then, of course, his initial foray had turned into a rather prolonged visit against his will.

His found his things where he'd left them, albeit a little windswept and damp, no doubt having been rained upon several times over the last week and a half. His pack was waterproof, though, and that was his chief interest. He knelt down beside it, gladly stripping off his disgusting jacket, shirt and vest.

Helen, either out of politeness or because the sight of his naked torso would inspire uncontrollable lust, looked away. Either way, it proved useful.

He thought the sleight of hand rather well done, as he quickly retrieved the larval cocoon from his pocket and stowed it in his pack. That taken care of, he pulled out a fresh shirt, and immediately felt better as he pulled it on. He knew he had some antibacterial cleanser here somewhere, too, of which he intended to make liberal use once he was dressed.

Helen spoke suddenly as he was working on his shirt buttons. "You really are utterly shameless, aren't you?"

He looked up in surprise. "What? I haven't even done trousers yet."

She gave him a hard look, and his heart sank in trepidation, already knowing what was coming. "Did you really think I wouldn't know you'd taken one of the larva?"

"One of the what? Really, I was slightly busy very nearly dying to save you and your little friends back there, if you recall."

"Nikola. Give it to me." He didn't move, and she pulled her stunner on him. "Or I'll knock you out, take it anyway, and you can get back to town on your own."

Well then.

He retrieved the thing and looked at it, the hard, slightly sticky pupae in his hand. And he decided the worst part was that she didn't see how much he needed it.

His smile was bitter as he extended his arm and handed it over. "Always on your terms, Helen. The lady giveth, the lady taketh away."

She chastised him further as she reached down for it. "Don't be dramatic. This was never yours to take."

He moved quickly and caught her hand before she could straighten, still grasping the larva. It was a cruel echo of their moment back in the cave system, when he had thanked her for coming for him. Now he said, "I knew it would hurt you - why do you think I waited so long before I fired up the autotype? Three whole days, in fact. It was simply because you were never to know about this."

She pulled her hand from his. "You really think that makes a difference, don't you? More likely you knew I'd never allow it, and were trying to figure a way out of trouble on your own." She held up a hand when he would have argued. "Forget it. I'm destroying this thing, it's done. You'll have to find another way."

"I'm sure that's likely, yes."

She sighed and turned away, telling him flatly, "Come on, it's still a ways back to where we left our vehicle, we should try to get there before nightfall." She headed back to where Henry and Will were waiting at the cave entrance.

"I don't sleep, you know," he said, conversationally, at her retreating back. She paused, listening, though she didn't turn around. "I lie down, I close my eyes - that's when it hits me, all over again, every night, every time I close my eyes. So I don't sleep. You know, I never used to think about dying; I guess I should have. Vampires can die of course. Hard to hunt an entire race to extinction if they can't be killed. I guess I should have thought more about it, though, maybe it wouldn't seem so bad now."

She looked back at him. There was a slight hint of guilt in her eyes that didn't make him feel better at all. "I know you're dealing with... something difficult for you..."

"Yes, the sympathy is touching. Not my point. My point is, three days Helen. That's how long I waited before calling you for help. _Three__ days_, alone in the dark, with only my thoughts, and the minutes ticking down to my death, to keep me company. Also, those murderous little monsters. But I waited. I promise you, I waited as long as I could."

She was silent for a moment, eyes steady on his. Finally, she nodded. "All right. Come on, then."

He blinked up at her. "What, that's it? What about the..."

"This? No." She shoved the larva into a pocket, then leaned down, grabbed his arm, and pulled him to his feet. "But I have something else that might interest you. Come on, we're wasting daylight. We'll get back to town, and then, if you like, you can come back to Old City with us."

He gave her a wary look as they walked together. "Why, because our little visit has been going so well you want to prolong all this fun?"

"Because I have something I want you to look at. And that you'll want to see."

"Couldn't you just show me right here? Or I have a hotel room in town - or I did. They probably think I ran out on the bill, come to think of it."

"What on earth do you think I want to show you?"

"I assumed it involved nudity. What, this isn't a booty call?"

"Oh, far better than a booty call."

He sincerely doubted that. "Your priorities are probably way off, but nevertheless, I'll admit I'm intrigued."

She gave him a small smile, and he found himself returning it.

The sad part wasn't that he forgave her so easily for denying him what was probably his one chance left on Earth to regain his vampire status. Because, actually, he didn't forgive her at all.

The sad part was that, even bitter and resentful, still he followed her. He followed her all the way back to her Sanctuary, simply because she asked him to.

And when they arrived, he followed her to the library. And it all persisted in feeling like a poor consolation prize - right up until the moment she activated the map.

His breath caught. He might have actually forgotten to breathe for a good few seconds, until it came out in a laugh of amazement. He turned in a slow circle, trying to take it all in, then looked up and caught Helen's eye. She was smiling as she watched him.

"I may never sleep again," he said.


	6. Nazareth

A/N: Here's the final part of the story! This is the one time Nikola actually _was_ dying, set during and after 'Awakening'.

Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed - I really, really appreciate it!

* * *

><p><strong>Final<strong>** Words**

**…**

_6. __Pulled __into __Nazareth__, __was __feelin__' '__bout __half-__past__ dead_

It wasn't a bad way to go, all things considered. In the halls of his ancestors, surrounded by their timeless genius, yes, it was fitting. And if he had to choose one sound to be the last he ever heard, then Helen's voice was it, and he was content.

Well, not content. He was in a fairly ridiculous amount of pain. Basically, dying sucked, even if he hadn't been enjoying humanity a whole lot, either.

Still, "Read to me," he said.

And Helen, dear Helen, who was fretting quite charmingly about the whole thing, tried to save him. Was quite determined, in fact. He liked that. He was glad she was here with him, even if her efforts were for naught.

The end came quickly; he could no longer maintain the energy field holding back the tide. He closed his eyes in the glorious presence of a long-dead queen, and thought that it was only fitting that the long years of his life had brought him here.

And so, Nikola Tesla died.

All things considered, it really couldn't have turned out better.

.

.

After the rather dramatic implosion of the underground caverns, the two of them pulled themselves up and dusted themselves off, still rather giddy from the adrenaline of their escape.

"You know, it occurs to me," Nikola said, fingering the ragged, bloody hole in his shirt, "That it's a very good thing my last request _wasn__'__t_ a kiss. Just think, if you'd spent my last few minutes making out with me instead of desperately trying to free the Wicked Bitch of the West back there, well... they really would have been my last few minutes."

"Considering we would never have discovered a good few hundred sleeping vampires, just waiting to be woken and set upon an unsuspecting world - I'd say it is a very good thing you didn't ask for a kiss," Helen said.

"Well, sure, but see, I would have been dead, and therefore not really in a position to care so much about all that." He grinned; she rolled her eyes. Then he thought back over what she'd just said. "Wait, would you have kissed me if I'd asked?"

For a second she looked at him, considering. "Yes," she said. Then she turned and began to pick her way carefully down the rocky slope.

He looked after her for a moment before following. "That sounds promising."

"Well," she added, almost defensively, as he caught up to her, "Except you're not likely to almost die again any time soon, though, are you?"

"Never thought I'd see a downside to being a vampire..."

"It all turned out for the best, didn't it? Well, except the loss of the map."

"Is that all you have to say? I did, you know, _die_."

"And just look at you now." She shook her head; he wished he could see her face properly, but she was keeping her focus dead ahead as they moved along. He thought of her back in the tomb, increasingly desperate to the point where she didn't bother trying to conceal it.

She was not so unaffected now, either, he decided.

"To be honest, I find it very difficult to imagine a world without Nikola Tesla in it," she added after a time.

And what was that supposed to even mean?

Of course, being a vampire, he had plenty of time to figure it out.

.

.

In the jeep, back on the road - or what passed for a road in these parts, more like a vague track with far more rocks and holes than flat surface - the beginning of their bumpy trip was fairly quiet. Helen was driving and he just watched her, or looked out the window. Mostly, he watched her.

The significance of what had just happened was still sinking in.

He had died, and been reborn.

And some awful, genocidal, megalomaniac woman had bitten him, thrown him in a pit, called him names, and tried to make Helen into her own private happy meal.

But still, focusing on the positives here.

Like Helen's face, bathed in golden light from the sun setting over the hills - he could look at such a sight forever.

After a while spent on such ruminations, Helen finally seemed to notice his attention. Or perhaps reached the limit of ignoring it. She frowned, glancing over at him. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just... you care."

"What?"

"You _care__!_"

"Really. I just turned you into a vampire - _again_ - to save your life, and you're going to sit there and tease me about _feelings_ like some ridiculous schoolboy? Are you ever going to grow up?"

"I notice you sort of avoiding the issue, but to answer your question, no. No! That's the entire point."

"Oh really, there's a point?" she muttered.

Instead of answering he put his hand out and pulled the parking brake lever.

The car swerved alarmingly, brakes screeching, wheels skidding in the loose gravel until Helen managed to wrestle the vehicle under control and bring it to a jerking halt.

She sat for a moment in the sudden stillness, chest heaving and her hands clutching the wheel. She carefully turned the key in the ignition, switching off the engine. And then she rounded on him furiously. "What in God's name do you think you're-"

Before she even finished her sentence he was kissing her; fiercely, joyfully, pushing her back into her seat and tasting her lips with abandon for as long as he dared. And oh, it was sublime. Then, still holding her face in his hands, he stopped kissing her and spoke.

"The _point_, Helen, you stubborn, intransigent woman, is that you _care_. That there is precisely one person in the world who gives a damn about me, and I am so glad that it's you." He sighed, and said again more quietly, "I'm so glad it's you."

He leaned in again and kissed her once more, softly and briefly this time.

She had taken all this in, watching him with those impassive eyes of hers. But finally she mustered a response.

"Again," she said, rather breathlessly this time, "What in God's name do you think you're doing?"

"Thanking you." He moved one of his hands in order to brush her hair back from her face. "Thank you, Helen."

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, her eyes dropping just as quickly to his mouth and back up. "You almost got us killed, you bloody maniac."

"Well, _you_ perhaps. I'm virtually indestructible again, and let me tell you, I couldn't be more thrilled."

"I hate you."

"But you want me."

With one hand she reached up and, carefully and deliberately, pushed his face away from hers. He fell back into his seat with a slightly giddy grin. "All right," he said agreeably, "But you can't deny you didn't entirely _not_ kiss me back. I'm just saying."

Turning in her seat to face him, she picked up his hand in both of hers and held it. He sat forward a little, encouraged. She spoke. "Nikola, you know, I don't make confessions like this very often. But you're my oldest friend. I could never have sat and watched you die like that if there was anything I could do to stop it. I'm so glad you're alive, I really am. And I swear, on everything I hold dear, if you _ever_ kiss me like that again -"

He deflated. "Let me guess, you'll kill me?"

"No. I'll de-vamp you again."

She really was a cruel, heartless woman in her own way. And still, a vast improvement on the would-be, now thankfully deceased, bitch queen of the world back there. No, this experience just proved what he had always known in his heart to be true: Helen was the only woman for him.

"Fine," he agreed airily to her terms. "That's fine, dear. Next time you can make the first move."

She scoffed, shaking her head as she shifted to take hold of the steering wheel. As she started the jeep up again and eased back onto the poor excuse for a road, she said, "Did you learn nothing from all of this?"

"As a matter of fact, I learned something very important. You know I had to become mortal to learn I wasn't afraid of dying? There's something so poetic about that. But you, you've always been fearless. This is why we deserve immortality, you and I, Helen."

"In the legends, as soon as you start to think you deserve something, that's when you almost certainly don't."

"Oh, legends - we'll make our own."

His smile was a permanent fixture on his face. It was indeed a whole new world.

"You're slightly delirious right now, aren't you?" Helen accused.

"Oh, almost certainly. Just keep driving..." He waved a hand lazily.

"And keep watch for antelopes?"

He laughed, and after a moment she joined him. And when he reached over, seeking a little human contact - or inhuman contact as the case may be - she didn't protest.

Well, not for a whole ten seconds, anyway.

"Nikola, take your hand off my leg."

It was all right, though, everything was all right. There was plenty of time, now, for that - for them - for everything.

the end.


End file.
